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#amwriitng
garrettauthor · 8 months
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Just editing chapters in Quest and I'm like...
"This author is PROBLEMATIC. How DARE he do this to my BABIES. My COMFORT characters. I LOVE these people and he's HURTING them."
"...wait. Shit. I'm the author." 😅
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anulithots · 4 months
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It's funny because I have all these grand ideas for my story, and everything I want it to be, yet I end up writing it to comfort myself, more so an attempt to put the abstract into words than anything else.
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rownanisntwriting · 7 months
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WIP INTRO: Black Forrest Cake
I am finally handing over BFC's WIP intro! It has been a long time since I have been able to properly make a post. My laptop died on me, and I just recently got a new one! Whether or not you care, you know now.
disclaimer: this is an original work, and any sort of plagiarism will not be tolerated.
Genre: Adult literary fiction (?)
Synopsis: Front worker Rosemarie and dishwasher Simon find out the owners of Good Intentions aren't all that good.
Setting: someplace in Illinois
Trigger warnings: violence, blood, animal death, cult depictions, death
The vibes: misty mornings, pot-roast, Gilmore Girls, chipped green nail polish, summer into autumn, doc martens, mohair cardigans, bruised knuckles, almond cookies, bitter black coffee, an awkward pairing, kind smiles, sweet tea, autumn leaves, hushed whispers in a closet, bitten lips, soft glances, awkward pining, a cult in the woods, muddy footprints, a butchers knife.
click me for the playlist! and click me for the pinterest board!
Snippet from the first chapter "Maraschino Red" below the cut!
Almonds hide the taste of cyanide; this fact Rosemarie will always remember as she places a cookie on the porcelain plate, a single almond half placed carefully in its center. In front of her stands a mother with her child, bags bruising her under eye, a strange compliment to the blue veins beneath her translucent lids and olivine eyes. She already has a mug of coffee at her table—black, but Rosemarie watched her empty three tan packets of brown sugar into her cup.
let me know if anyone would like to join a tag list! otherwise, it is nice to be back at it!
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For WIP Wednesday I thought I’d post a scene from a Snowbaz AU I’ve been writing where the Crucible marries mages rather than assigning roommates. Simon and Baz are 20 and were surprise!married by the Crucible a short while before this snippet is set. Baz has been trying to keep an emotional distance because he still believes he and the Mage’s Heir are meant to kill each other, but he’s not managing it so well, as can be seen here when Simon tries to sneak an illicit midnight snack :P
Simon
I spy the butter and have it out before I even know what I’m thinking. In the group homes I used to spoon great mounds of it into my mouth whenever I was the first one down to breakfast and there was no one to see me embarrassing myself; I’m never the first one awake in the House of Pitch, but now it’s late and there’s no one in the kitchen. Working fast, I peel back the foil and take an enormous bite. It’s heaven: relief floods through me as tension I didn’t know I’d been carrying releases. Baz’s family has the best-tasting butter ever.
I jump at the loud groan behind me. “Please tell me you’re sleepwalking, Snow,” Baz says from across the kitchen, and I hastily shove the butter back on its shelf, my cheeks burning. There’s going to be teeth prints in it for sure; maybe I can sneak back down and slice off the ruined bit before his family finds out. There’s no way I’m here only a week and don’t get blamed for the sudden appearance of bite marks in the butter—come to that, I wouldn’t put it past Baz’s father to obtain my dental records if I denied it.
Baz shoulders me away from the still open refrigerator and takes the butter out; I want to die. Maybe I should pretend I was sleepwalking. “Baz, I—”
He shakes his head at me and steps over to the counter, slicing away the bitten chunk with a knife. Wordlessly, he holds it out, waving his hand at me when I hesitate. “Snow,” he says softly, no trace of accusation in his voice.
“I know I’m revolting,” I mutter, humiliation scalding my face and down my neck to my chest. Baz wags his hand again and when I step nearer him, he holds the piece of butter to my lips.
“Have it,” he says. “Do you think you’d like some toast? I was going to make myself a piece anyway.”
I take the butter but don’t put it in my mouth. “Baz.”
“What?” He’s opening a loaf of bread and taking out two slices. He glances up at me, but when I don’t say anything, he turns to the toaster. I hastily shove the pat of butter into my cheek and wipe my fingers against my pajama bottoms. I can’t help staring at Baz’s back. Even tired and mussed from sleep, he’s a sight to behold. He doesn’t belong with a mess like me.
“I’m sorry about the butter,” I say when he turns back to face me.
Baz winces. “Don’t apologize to me for what you like to eat, Simon,” he says. He looks almost pained.
“You don’t think it’s disgusting?”
Suddenly, his expression shifts. “Taking on a block of butter as though it were a chocolate bar, Snow?—it’s absolutely shocking. But you,”—Baz grabs me by the waist and sweeps me up onto the counter, how is he this strong—“are absolutely adorable.” He kisses the tip of my nose.
“Baz!” Bracing my hand against his chest, I push him back to look properly into his face. He’s laughing, and Merlin, he’s gorgeous. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” His hands curl around my jaw, thumbs tracing slow, small circles against the side of my face. “Snow, when we’re old and fat and have troublingly high cholesterol levels, I’ll worry about your butter-snarfing habits. Right now you can eat a block a day and I’ll fight anyone who gives you guff about it, all right?”
The toast pops. Baz spreads a thick layer of butter over each piece and hands me one, a little smile playing around his mouth as I take a huge bite. “I told you I grew up in group homes,” I say while chewing, watching Baz nibble the corner of his toast. He nods. “You’d never make it taking your time like that,” I add, shoveling the rest of my toast into my mouth.
“Had to be fast, did you?” Baz breaks his toast in the middle and hands me half.
“There just wasn’t ever enough, really. Definitely nothing nice like what we got at Watford, or like you have here.”
Baz tilts his head and breaks his toast in two again when I finish. He passes me half of his half. “What we have here. It’s yours now, too, Snow-Pitch.”
I stuff the toast in my mouth and wave my hand as he breaks his piece again. “Don’t. I’ve eaten all your toast.”
“You can always eat all my toast.” Smiling, Baz pushes the piece into my hand and pops the last remaining crumbs into his mouth. “Do you want any more?”
I shake my head slowly. I hadn’t expected him to understand about the homes, but he caught on right away. He’s smart—so smart, how would I ever have defeated him? (And what if I still have to try? I don’t want to, even if all of magic depended on it.)
“Come on, then,” Baz says, taking my hand and tugging me down onto my feet. He’s pressed against me, holding me pinned against the counter, and I risk skating my hands up along his sides. I wish...I don’t know what I wish. When I meet his eyes, he’s just looking at me. Seeing me. It’s a little terrifying.
Baz
He looks terrified. I back away reluctantly (I want to kiss him. He’ll taste like butter and toast and only everything I’ve ever wanted) and return the butter block to the fridge. There’s more than enough left for breakfast, and the children prefer clotted cream, anyway.
Snow is quiet on the way back upstairs, although he holds my hand as he leads the way. Maybe he’s embarrassed about showing me so much of himself. I turn an image over in my mind: the rolly, dirt-faced urchin I’d seen years ago in oversized hand-me-downs, staring at all the pastries he wanted and couldn’t have. I didn’t know what want looked like, then; how could I have?—no. I did know, but not in the same ways as Simon. I wanted my mother back, the grief so sharp and slicing on some days that I thought the vampires must have left their teeth in me. I wanted comfort, though Fiona tried hard to pick up the slack from my father, and later on there was Daphne, doing her best. And then I wanted Snow, an ache that still breaks me open and turns me in on myself almost constantly.
I didn’t want for the basics, though, and I was well-cared for. Simon was emotionally deprived, and had to worry about keeping body and soul together on top of it. I think about the butter, the sheer caloric heft of it; his body instinctively craved it to ensure he had enough fat and calories to survive, and now it’s a comfort, a coping mechanism. Does he need to cope, here? Does he feel alone?
“Simon,” I say outside our bedroom door, and he lets me cup his face in my hands. (I shouldn’t kiss him here; there’s never any telling where Mordelia is).
“Yeah?”
I don’t know. I never don’t know what to say, but I don’t know now. That’s what this tawny-skinned nightmare does to me. I kiss the mole just above his left eyebrow. “Nothing. Let’s get some sleep.”
Snow curls up in the middle of the bed, covers kicked off and one hand stretched out toward me. I trace around his fingers, touching the webbing of each and then stroking every one of his knuckles in turn. He makes a sound that might be my name, or nothing at all, just some little noise against the pillow, and I twine my fingers with his at last. Moments later, his heart rate slows and I hear him start to snore.
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rhosmeinir · 5 months
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Because it's a NaNo Friday night and I apparently cannot be stopped, it's a double helping of AMONG THE STACKS! Chapters 8 and 9 are now live :D
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Reading and weeping opens the door to one's heart, but writing and weeping opens the window to one's soul.
M. K. Simmons
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an-magrittwne · 5 months
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🌹- Nothern Light, has never been so strong, so far south in Scandinavia. This is South of Norway, & Lawer part of Denmark. The last part is quite unusual.
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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 11 months
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Some proof I'm still writing Apophenia 2.0 despite scrambling to study for exams and write final papers:
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“What did you do with my stuff?” he asked. “My car? My bags?”
“I took the liberty of relocating them here. I’d be happy to return your clothes, of course. I’m sure you’d like to have a shower and change.”
So, little to no hope of the enforcers finding those then. “You’d be happy to. You’d like to apologize. You fucking kidnapped me.”
“I did.”
“You’re holding me prisoner against my will.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You’re going to drink me like a bottle of cheap wine and toss me in the gutter when I’m empty.”
“Eventually…yes. Although, it doesn’t have to be that way. It all depends on you.” The bloodborn scooped up a morsel of beef and blew softly on it. “Here, we’ll start easy and slow. What’s your name?”
Patreon :: Ao3
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lizonkawrites · 10 months
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Looking for Web Novel Writeblrs to Follow!
By “web novel,” I don’t mean the website WebNovel (which, recently, has been sending shady emails to AO3 writers). I’m simply referring to stories that are serialized online. Like longfics, but for original stories.
I’m working on my own web novel, and I’d like to find other web novel writers/aspiring writers like me.
If you’re working on a web novel, then please reblog this post with a short summary of what your story is about.
I will follow everyone who leaves a summary~
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berhanyannfanart · 5 months
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I feel like it's time to start posting my original work and writing splurges... but I'm scared 😱 Putting myself on social media feels feeding my time and self worth to a power hungry monster 🥲
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maikmattes · 1 year
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Enter Titel here! #Autorenleben
Vor ziemlich genau einem Jahr habe ich einen Beitrag verfasst, in dem ich meinen Unmut über die Titelsuche Luft machte. Erschienen ist Skizze 42 dann erst Ende November und ich bin heute noch nicht mit dem Titel zufrieden.
Aber vielleicht sollte man es so sehen: Nach dem Titel ist vor dem Titel. Seit einigen Tagen kreisen meine Gedanken schon um den Titel des Nachfolgeprojekts. Obwohl noch einige Kapitel zu schreiben sind, macht man sich doch bereits einen Kopf darum, wie das Kind mal heißen wird. Frage an die Autorenkollegen, geht euch das eigentlich auch so? 
Meine Leser dürfen sich dagegen freuen. Denn wenn ich anfange, mich mit dem Titel auseinanderzusetzen, habe ich mich innerlich für die Veröffentlichung entschieden. So wird es das NaNoWriMo-Projekt des letzten Jahres bald zu kaufen geben. Wobei, bald ist relativ. Ich hoffe aber, bis zum Sommer ist es fertig.
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zoeydelmairewrites · 5 months
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Here's why this Nano is different for me
(and it's making me nervous)
I AM NOT A PANTSER.
When I get a book in my head, I can't just sit down and write it. I have to plan EVERYTHING. Maps, character arcs, outlines, how it ends. Idk if it's an ADHD thing, or just my weird desire to be perfect. I can't write without a game plan. I can't write unless I think it will be good.
So like, three weeks ago maybe? I had a new idea. I loved the character so much, I spent forever making a cosplay for Halloween. I was having fun. So a writing buddy was like, hey, maybe this is what you should write?
It sounds like a good idea but I HAVE NO PLAN AND NO IDEA WHERE IT'S GOING I HAVE NEVER PANTS'D BEFORE. I'm like 4K words behind already and it's just one giant mystery and I'm so....nervous. This is the first time I've ever just written and been like "Okay, I can fix this later if it sucks." It probably sucks? But I am sort of okay with it. Mostly okay with it.
Oh my god what am I doing
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marxandpringles · 6 months
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Editing the first draft
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indecentpause · 1 year
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In the Lion’s Teeth: Chapter Two
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cw: drugs
Over the course of the next week, you throw yourself completely into the model you're working on. It's just a modified Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird, but it's been relatively inexpensive to make and so this way, if any of your calculations are off, if you screwed up your numbers to chart your flight path, if anything has too much or too little force and it ends up damaged or, worse, destroyed, at least you won't be losing much. Eventually you want to work up to more complicated things. Your final goal is to replicate the Mars rover Curiosity, but small scale and readjusted for Earth's atmosphere. Then, once you're successful, moving on to designing your own. But, baby steps. Usually things like this are done in a team over the course of years, and you're working on your own.
You know a lot about aircraft from your repair work at the hangar, but there are a lot of specializations involved that you only have a basic working knowledge of. It's been almost six months since you started the actual build. Ten since you started your research. But you're nearly done, and it's going to be worth it.
The sky is in a constant state of dim grey, regardless of the time of day, and it's colder than it was last year, the snow is heavier, the winds angrier, so you stay inside, working and tinkering and programming, ripping out and reconnecting wiring and screwing pieces together, only leaving your room to get to one of the many campus workshops when you need more specialized equipment, like soldering irons. You're only outside for the few minutes it takes to walk between buildings. Chain-smoking and shitty instant coffee are your only sustenance, unless Mitch brings you something and reminds you that living on caffeine and cigarettes isn't possible and sometimes you need to eat food, too.
You don't sleep much, but why would you, you have plenty of energy and drive and right now your mind is working at its peak and pausing to sleep would only waste time and potential. Most of your coding and programming is done at night, quietly, so you don't disturb Mitch. Heavy, loud work you save for the daytime. You're not sure how many days have passed when your phone goes off for the first time in weeks.
Read chapter two on Ao3 here!
Or, if you have a wattpad account, you can read it there!
General taglist:  @ohsugarfoot @abalonetea @only-book-lovers-left-alive @poore-choice-of-words @leadhelmetcosmonaut @jasperygrace @drippingmoon @theschoolofathena @viskafrer @thelaughingstag @athenswrites​ @kaiusvnoir​ @magic-is-something-we-create
Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this particular list!
Updates Tuesdays and Fridays.
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sarahwyland · 6 months
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Chapter 8 - Spotless
Chapter 8 of Spotless is up! We're getting a little family history lesson in this one (and a bit more of that bromance everyone loves).
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wildcards1407 · 1 year
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What's The Opposite Of Black Friday? Staying Home And Reading Indie Books!
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Instead of dealing with crowds and craziness on Black Friday, how about this: help local authors get in the black. Grab 19 hopeful sci-fi books for 20 bucks. Snag a spot on the couch, open up a book and reeeelax.
Grab your books at https://storybundle.com/hope?fbclid=IwAR1CB_efn4yb1oK_ejmhn_fmH8HkoXRiXW2is6ugIYqKylbU23KIpi7oTR0
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